"I think you should stop being so mean to me, Zahed."
"Why would I ever do that?"
Aryan grins, a bright, wicked thing.
"Because I kiss you like this."
•
Mira Zahed and Aryan Shankar are at war.
When her best friend and his cousin decide to fall in...
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♥ ♥ ♥
"IT SMELLS LIKE SHIT IN HERE."
Mira's hair is up in a ponytail that swishes back and forth in a whimsical little pattern that has nearly all my attention as she traipses down the aisle of the stables. Horses stick their heads out of the stall to greet her as she passes. And while she pauses to grin at nearly every one of them, she pointedly ignores my comment as I stand at the stable entrance.
It does, in fact, smell like horse and shit and horse shit but she seems happy as she goes, pausing near a bench between stalls.
The horses near her huff and puff and neigh at her over their painted emerald green stall doors and she smiles up at them before propping her leg up onto the bench and fixing some buckle along the smart pair of leather riding boots she's wearing. They climb high past her knees and if I said I didn't like them, I'd be damned lying.
When she straightens, her hair shifts with the motion, sleek and dark brown in its hold. There's no sight of a red hair-tie today to bring back memories of a gym shower but that doesn't mean I'm not enamoured with just the simple sight of her bathed in the afternoon light.
Especially when she flicks her gaze my way, the stench of horse keeping me securely at bay. Amusement, wicked and bright, pierces past her monsoon grey eyes.
I find myself taking my first step into the stable, towards that gaze, even though I have no inclination to step in shit. But her taunt rings over to me, "Don't tell me you're afraid of horses too, Shankar."
"I'm not afraid," I state calmly, eyeing the floor as I walk, flicking my gaze up to hers occasionally, nursing a cup of coffee in one hand. "But opposed to stepping in shit? Yes."
Not stepping in shit requires a lot of multitasking. My brow is level with concentration as I approach her.
When I glance up, her hands are on her hips. She's a vision in the light skimming from the overhead windows, features gilded in daylight. And she's biting back a retort and, knowing her, she's failing. But she's also biting back a smile.
"Maybe there's an opening for stable boy. You can always shovel horse shit when you're free."
I near her and slide to a stop. I bestow her a gracious once over and take a slow sip of my remaining coffee. "Horse shit, your bullshit. Same thing."
I lower the cup, eyes sparking at her and she laughs. The sound dances around the wooden beams overhead, resounds over the sounds of hooves shifting in hay, mingles with the sunlight streaming in.
